Stray Strands
by MisfitPaperMage
Summary: Short tales that fall between the knots in the Well-Woven Net - loose strands, if you will, little bits of daily life for Grey Warden Alessar Tabris and his erstwhile assassin Zevran Arainai.
1. A Gift

_Author's Note:_

The first in a long series of short one-shots that fall between the main chapters of Well-Woven Net - hence, "stray strands". :) I'll be posting these in the order that they were written, rather than chronological order, to maintain consistency in writing style and all that. ^^;_  
><em>

This piece was written for Valentine's Day 2010, hence the theme. XD Timeline-wise, this falls perhaps the day before Well-Woven Net 14, once the Wardens' party has returned to Denerim for the Landsmeet.

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><p>"I brought you something," Zevran announced as he strode out of Denerim's market square.<p>

Alessar looked at the other elf curiously, wondering what he'd found this time. The man was almost as bad as a real, feathered crow, Alessar thought with amusement. He was constantly finding little trinkets or such things and showing them, or outright giving them, to his lover. Sometimes he bought them, if they caught his eye in a marketplace; most times they were things found in the course of exploration. Either way, the Antivan seemed to enjoy surprising him with these small gifts every so often.

The Warden tried not to let his expectations rise as Zevran made his way over to where he waited for the rest of the group, but it was hard not to look forward to one of the Antivan's presents. Even the smallest were usually worth a smile or a laugh.

"I had wondered if I'd ever see this in Ferelden," Zevran said conversationally as he joined Alessar in the shade of an awning. "It's common enough in Antiva, but that is a long way from here, no?" As he spoke, he drew a small, paper-wrapped packet from his belt pouch.

"Some sort of food?" the Warden asked curiously. This was the first time Zevran had brought back such a thing.

"Oh, but so much more than just 'food', _cielo,_" Zevran chuckled as he opened the bundle. Nestled in the wrappings were several dark brown squares, slightly smaller than the palm of an elf's hand. They looked smooth to the touch, and had a slight sheen to them. "When the qunari came to Thedas, they brought these peculiar seeds that they use to make a drink. Dreadful concoction," the assassin said with a comical grimace. "But in Antiva, they use the seeds to make this. _Chocolate._" The complex word rolled off his tongue with his distinctive accent.

Alessar caught the aroma of the stuff; it seemed sweet and _heavy_, somehow, and he reached to pick up a square. It was firm and slightly cool. "A confection, then?" He glanced up at the other elf; Zevran was quite well-versed in poisons, and while Alessar certainly wasn't worried about the Antivan trying to kill him anymore, he wasn't sure if some sort of harmless, but potentially embarrassing, prank was out of the question.

"Yes, I suppose you could call it that," Zevran replied, "although I think it leaves other such things far behind." He flashed his best "dare you to" smile. "Try it, hmm?"

Perhaps Alessar should have been more concerned about the assassin's apparent eagerness, but the scent of the chocolate was too much to resist. He gingerly bit into a corner of the square; the stuff broke away without much difficulty and began to melt into a smooth, rich cream on his tongue.

"_Oh,_" was all he could say for a moment. The chocolate had just a hint of bitterness to it, but that only served to enhance its sweetness. The flavor was so rich that he could only describe it as _decadent_, and it utterly defied comparison to anything he was familiar with. It was strangely... sensual, and as he realized that, he glanced at Zevran warily, wondering for a moment if he had, in fact, just been drugged.

"Divine, isn't it?" the assassin said with a knowing grin. He deftly nicked the square that Alessar was holding, and bit off a corner for himself before handing it back. "Mmm. Possibly worth killing for," he sighed happily.

"It is," the Warden agreed fervently, feeling safer about savoring the taste now that Zevran had eaten some of the stuff himself. "Divine, I mean."

Zevran pressed the packet into his hand. "Perhaps you'd best save it," he chuckled. "It is apparently very hard to come by here, at least for now."

Alessar wondered how much the chocolate had cost, if it had come all the way from Antiva, or elsewhere abroad. Regardless of the price, though, it was a remarkable gift. "Thank you," he said, feeling self-conscious as he always did when gifts like this were given to him. What had he done, after all, to merit that sort of thing?

"You are most welcome, my dear Warden," Zevran replied warmly. "It is good to be able to share a small piece of my home."

The Warden broke off the untouched half of the square he still held, and wrapped it back up with the rest of the chocolate before tucking the packet away. The corner-bitten piece, he broke in half again, and offered a portion to Zevran.

"Hmm? Thank you," the assassin said in mild surprise. At first, Alessar wondered if he'd offended the other elf by offering him his own gift, but Zevran's sudden grin erased that thought.

"Of course you wouldn't know this, but a gift of chocolate is usually given for specific reasons in Antiva," he began to explain as he took another bite of the stuff.

"I can understand why," Alessar murmured. Had there been a "specific reason", here? But Zevran had just said that he wouldn't expect the Warden to know... "It seems rather..." he searched for a milder word than the first one that came to mind, but that was precisely the one that the Antivan elf chose to use.

"Intimate? Yes." Zevran gave him a coy sidelong glance. "Some even claim that it is an aphrodisiac."

Alessar froze, having just taken another bite of chocolate. He looked at the assassin, startled.

"Oh, that is just old wives' tales," the other elf said airily, waving a hand. The mischievous glint in his eyes proved that he was enjoying Alessar's discomfiture, however. "Perhaps the supposed... _effect_... is just gratitude, no? But, yes, as I was saying, chocolate is often reserved for special occasions... or at least, special acquaintances."

Well... they were certainly on the level of "special acquaintances", although to what degree was still under silent debate. But despite Zevran's almost offhand explanation, the Warden was almost positive that the gift of chocolate had been quite deliberately given.

Alessar looked up, meeting the other elf's gaze. He wished he had more of a gift for words. "I... I'll appreciate it all the more, then," he managed to say, feeling a little foolish, but happy.

"Oh?" Zevran looked surprised for a fraction of a moment, then recovered, giving the Grey Warden his trademark roguish grin. The look in his eyes, however, was one of... relief? "I am most pleased to hear it." He seemed about to say more, but there was a sound of rapid footsteps behind him — Leliana was approaching, carrying several parcels and looking exultant. _She's found some fancy pair of shoes, surely,_ Alessar thought distractedly.

"Always with these interruptions!" Zevran said under his breath, in a mixture of humor and exasperation. He pinned Alessar with a look that promised further discussion — or something like — later.

The Warden nodded slightly in reply, trying, as Leliana began to show off her purchases, not to let his mind dwell too much on where that later conversation might lead.


	2. Mirror, Sword and Shield

_Author's Note:_

This is an Awakening story, so, spoilers for that, I suppose. XD; The tale was prompted by "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay, the sentiments of which I think a lot of Wardens could sympathize with. T_T

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><p>Alessar lowered his bow as the courtyard fell silent. His eyes fell briefly on the fallen peasants before he could focus completely on Varel and Garavel, and it was a struggle not to cast the weapon aside in fury, in grief. <em>Misery<em>, the longbow was called, all too aptly today.

Garavel muttered something or other about not being ruled by the mob. He had argued for taking on the rioters in the first place, and did not seem particularly perturbed by this turn of events. Varel looked more grave as he met the Warden Commander's eyes.

"We're going to have to discuss this further, Commander," he said respectfully, knowing that Alessar had not wanted to resort to violence.

"I..." the elf's voice cracked slightly. "Please give me an hour, Varel. We've just returned from... quite an ordeal, before this." That was a vast understatement, but there was no point in elaborating on the events in the old silverite mine while standing outside of the Keep.

Varel glanced from Alessar to Velanna, who was, thank the Maker, quiet, for now. The last thing the Warden Commander wanted to deal with at the moment was the Dalish woman's vitriol. Wearily, he introduced her to the Seneschal as a new Warden recruit and made his escape far too quickly to be polite.

_Was I ever this..._ moody _before?_ Alessar wondered as he walked at a rapid pace to his quarters, starting to unfasten his drakescale armor as he went. By the time he reached the door, he already had his bracers off and his brigandine half undone.

He pondered the answer to his own question. It was two years ago now that he had started his journey out of Denerim, and while that certainly had been difficult — a nearly impossible trial for a young man just coming into his own — he'd never felt so... _alone_ as he did now. Alistair — friend, name-twin, blood-brother — had always been there, and later...

_Later, there was Zevran._

He let the bracers drop to the floor with a muffled clatter and set Misery down with more care before shrugging out of his harness and brigandine. Underneath, the bruises he'd acquired in the mines were starting to turn odd colors, purple and black against his fair skin.

_"Does it hurt_ too _terribly badly, my dear Warden?"_ the other elf would ask playfully, a note of warm concern woven through the invitation, as he watched Alessar strip out of his gear. Usually it didn't, and on the rare occasion that it did, Zevran was generally ready with a creative solution...

Alessar groaned softly and rubbed his face. That he missed the assassin didn't need to be said. But it was more than simple stifled desire that made him wish desperately that his lover was here. To him, it _always_ had been more, and now he needed all of those other things far more (_...well...perhaps not so far_, he admitted to himself) than a romp in the bedchamber. Clever advice, a strong arm with a sharp blade, an ear willing to listen... and after all was said and done, _support_, unconditional and unwavering.

He absently unbuckled his hipguard and let the leather kirtle fall to the floor, then bent to unlace his greaves and boots. _I have_ allies _here... perhaps even friends... but..._ Here, he was _Warden Commander_, a surrogate Arl, with the power of life and death over the people of this region and the Grey Wardens under his command. No one called him _Alessar_ here, not even Oghren, though the dwarf had seldom called him by his name to begin with. The effect was... uncomfortable, as if he had no other identity other than the Commander. He often felt as if he had been placed in some sort of forcefield that no one else could breach, and he _hated_ it. On most days, it was like a bubble that kept everyone at a distance. Today, it felt more like a Crushing Prison...

Now standing in only his worn leathers, Alessar walked to the wash basin and filled it with tepid water from the pitcher waiting alongside. _I... I don't know if I can continue this, alone,_ he finally admitted to himself, putting the nebulous thought into words. He was not a defeatist by nature — at least, he hadn't been in the past — but this... he wasn't prepared for this, wasn't _meant_ for it. And if he felt that way, surely those around him either already agreed, or would, soon enough.

He vigorously splashed his face with water, but the lukewarm liquid did little to revive him. Planting his hands on the table on either side of the basin, he stared at the dim reflection in the water as the ripples slowly settled. The elf in the water-mirror looked remote, no answers in his eyes... not that Alessar had truly expected to find any there.

"If you're pondering drowning yourself, I don't think that bowl is going to cut it," a rough tenor cut through his thoughts.

_Andraste's Grace_! Alessar barely managed not to flinch in surprise. Without glancing up, the elf identified Nathaniel immediately by the quiet intensity of his voice. The comment itself could have been taken quite badly — particularly from someone who had admittedly wanted to kill him — but there had been a note of dry humor there, perhaps even sympathy.

Slowly, he looked up, trying to pull some semblance of dignity over his inner distress. The human rogue was leaning against the doorframe; in his distracted haste, Alessar had never shut the door. Nathaniel looked at him keenly for a long moment, leaving Alessar to wonder what he wanted. The man had gradually lost his hostility towards the senior Warden, but Alessar couldn't keep himself from mentally reviewing where his weapons were and how quickly he could reach them. Nathaniel had been a good ally so far, but if he opposed some interloper elf's handling of the arling's affairs...

But the man had not complained as the Wardens fought off the peasant mob — he'd drawn steel against the rioters to defend his Commander. Alessar had seen that the dispossessed noble cared deeply about the people of his family's former holdings; surely, if he objected to having to put down the uprising, he would have said so, or acted in kind...

Finally, though, Nathaniel gave him a small smile of commiseration. "I don't envy you in the slightest, Commander," he said in his quiet way. He seemed about to say more, but Alessar interrupted him — a sign in and of itself of how out-of-sorts the elf felt.

"You don't... need to call me 'Commander', not here." The man looked slightly taken aback, so Alessar pressed on, "Just 'Alessar' is fine. Please."

He winced inwardly at the entreaty in his tone, but Nathaniel nodded, his expression understanding. As if in response to the other Warden's plea for informality, he seemed to relax slightly. "If that is what you wish... Alessar." The name sounded strange on his lips, to both of them, judging by the look on the man's face. _Come to think of it,_ Alessar thought, _I don't know that I've ever heard him use my given name..._

"It _is_ what I wish," he said out loud as he wiped the water from his face. "And now that that's been established... you were saying?" He pushed several damp locks of hair behind his ear, his fingers brushing over the single earring he wore in a gesture of confirmation that had become habit by now.

The human's sharp eyes did not miss this; they missed very little. Instead of continuing with his original thought, he tilted his head questioningly. "If I may ask... what _is_ that? When we found the ghoul who had taken your belongings... that was the first thing you took back, even before your weapons. And yet, it doesn't seem very..."

"Me?" the Commander supplied with a faint smile. It was true enough; he had very little ornamental jewelry to speak of, and the gold earring with its sapphire teardrop seemed uncharacteristically flashy for him. But he hadn't chosen its form, nor had its previous owner. Truly, it could have been made from rusty wire and a river pebble, and he would have happily worn it anyway.

"Well, I suppose, yes," Nathaniel admitted, obviously hesitant to criticize something so petty. "Although I suppose if it's enchanted, what it looks like doesn't really matter, does it?"

"It's... a promise," Alessar said quietly, reaching up and touching the earring again with an almost religious reverence. He and Zevran would probably never be bound in any formal way — not in any nation where the Chantry held sway, at any rate — but the earring had been given with a similar intent, and he honored it as such. Whether Zevran still felt the same way now, far off in Antiva... if he even still lived...

No, he couldn't afford to dwell on those kinds of thoughts, not now. More and more frequently as of late, that promise was the only thing that kept him going. A sense of duty could only take him so far.

Nathaniel nodded in acknowledgment of his reply, looking down for a moment. He almost certainly realized what kind of promise Alessar meant, if not to whom; jeweled earrings generally were not given as simple tokens of friendship, after all. It was also quite obvious that whoever had given him the earring was not here. What did the other Warden make of that, Alessar wondered. Of course, the man could always try to ask Oghren, if he was really curious; the two of them got along surprisingly well. But as far as Alessar knew, none of his new recruits knew a thing about his personal life, and perhaps that was for the best.

"I suppose that makes my question even more relevant, then," the human rogue said finally, standing up straight and uncrossing his arms. "Are you... going to be all right? Do you think you can handle this?" His tone was not challenging — he was simply asking an honest question, and one that a Warden certainly had a right to ask his Commander.

"...What if I can't?" Alessar asked evenly.

"Then I suppose we — the Grey Wardens — will find some way to manage. If two Wardens can stop a Blight, a half-dozen _have_ to be able to handle this, together," Nathaniel said firmly. "But I didn't ask if you _could_, I asked if you _thought_ you could."

Alessar closed his eyes for a moment and smiled faintly. The other Warden had, purposely or not, hit on the real problem. "Honestly?... It comes and goes. But I feel that I _must_... and that leaves me no real choice. I _cannot_ fail in this."

He looked up to see Nathaniel looking at him intently. "That is where you're wrong," the other Warden said, shaking his head. "You _are_ our Commander, Alessar, but this isn't only your fight, and it doesn't rest solely on your shoulders. Or at least, it shouldn't."

His words stung — not as an insult, but as a sharp reminder that Alessar was not the only one with a vested interest in success; indeed, Nathaniel's concerns for Amaranthine were probably even greater than his own, and the other Wardens could hardly be said to have nothing at stake here. They were all in this together, like it or not.

"Yes... you're right," he said with a rueful smile. "...Thank you, Nathaniel."

"I'm glad to help," the other Warden said solemnly. "But I'll leave you to your break — the hour's not getting any longer." He gave Alessar an encouraging sort of smile before silently disappearing from the doorway, leaving the elf wondering how his would-be assassins somehow ended up being his best advisors.


	3. Bonds

_Author's Note:_

This is set very shortly after Knots 11-12. Despite the game's silence on the matter, I don't imagine Alessar would let all of Ignacio's hint-dropping about Taliesen pass without questioning it.

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><p>It was becoming all too common, Alessar thought, to leave Denerim feeling defeated. No matter what they accomplished while they were there, there was always <em>something<em> to take the wind out of their sails.

He supposed matters were a bit more personal this time, though. He was still worried about his family, with some illness running rampant in the Alienage, but trying to help them might have endangered not only himself — which was of little concern — but his entire party, as well as their mission, and as much as he hated to admit it, saving the country _had_ to come before saving his father and cousins. In the end, they wouldn't thank him for abandoning his responsibilities, he was well aware, and knowing that made it a little easier to walk away... but only a little.

On top of that, however, there was this matter of Zevran and the Crows. It was bad enough knowing that Zevran's old cell still sought the Wardens' deaths, but if (or more likely, _when_) they discovered Zevran was not only alive, but working with the Wardens, would they come after the group with a vengeance? And where, exactly, did Taliesen fall in all of this? Ignacio had mentioned him by name, which was worrying...

The elven Warden rose from his spot by the campfire, giving Ovden an absentminded ear-scritch as he looked around for Zevran. The assassin was nowhere to be seen around the campsite — but on his second glance around, Alessar finally noticed the light coming from within Zevran's tent.

That was a bit unusual; generally, if weather permitted, they took care of their chores out in the open air, and anything that needed genuine privacy was better left for later at night, after most of the others had gone to sleep. Now more than a little curious, the Warden headed towards the other elf's tent, letting his steps be heard.

"Zevran?" he called tentatively through the tent flap.

"Ah, come in, my dear Warden, but mind your feet."

With a warning like that, it seemed prudent to look before walking in unwary. Alessar peered inside and immediately saw the reason for both Zevran's caution and his self-imposed confinement: more than a score of small vials of poison were laid out on the floor of the tent. The assassin was clearly in the midst of decanting a large batch of something or other into the small portions he'd actually need to coat his daggers.

Zevran met the Warden's curious look with a slightly mocking grin. "What good are the _ingredients_ for poison if they're never put to use? Carrying around sea-snake venom seems wasteful, when I could be carrying _la tranquilidad_ instead."

"_Trahnkili-_" Alessar tried, the Antivan pronunciation unfamiliar, "'tranquility'? That's the name of the poison?" He ducked into the tent and carefully nudged several vials aside so he could sit down.

"Mm, that is what we call it in Antiva. Here in Ferelden, I have heard of a concoction called 'Quiet Death' that I believe may be the same thing." Zevran spoke quite calmly, moreso than usual, as he used a hollow reed to transfer the dark liquid from a large flask into the vials, no more than a teaspoon at a time. Given that the assassin was working with his bare hands, Alessar had to assume that the toxin was not poisonous to the touch, but Zevran still moved with care. That intense focus he was able to call upon, seemingly at a moment's notice, was fascinating to the Warden, although he wondered if it was a natural talent or something the former Crow had been trained in.

Alessar waited in patient silence for several minutes, until Zevran's curiosity finally got the better of him. "And to what do I owe the undeniable pleasure of your visit, _cielo_? Have you missed me so very much in the past hour?" Though his gaze remained firmly on his work, his playful grin was clearly directed at the other elf. "Or perhaps some salacious fireside tale has driven you to my arms early this evening?"

The Warden had to laugh at Zevran's overly theatrical delivery, although it was true enough that he'd missed the assassin's company. "More the former, certainly not the latter. Actually, I wanted to talk to you, that's all. But you're clearly a bit tie— er, busy..."

It was no use; the Antivan elf caught his slip easily. "_Tied up_, I believe you were going to say?" he asked innocently. "I do so love these little Fereldan idioms. But if I were tied up, wouldn't I be forced to listen to you, rather than the opposite?" he continued thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should test this idea?"

The Warden knew that his lover was simply trying to get a rise out of him now, which was the only reason he was able to keep his composure. "Maybe later," he managed to say with a straight face.

"Hmm, now _that_ sounds promising," Zevran chuckled. "As for right now — I'm nearly finished, as you can see." Indeed, the flask of poison was nearly empty. "So, would you like to continue our conversation here, or perhaps in the open air?"

"Outside, I think." Alessar didn't mind the forced proximity one bit, but he vastly preferred being out in the open over the stuffy confines of a canvas tent. "If you don't mind."

The assassin didn't answer for a moment; he was painstakingly pouring the last of the poison out by hand. Once that was done, he stuffed a bit of scrap linen inside the flask to soak up the tiny amount of liquid left and replaced the stopper. "I don't mind at all, my dear Warden. Some fresh air will be pleasant after these labors."

In a few minutes, they were sitting amid the sprawling roots of an enormous apple tree near the edge of the camp, close enough to each other to speak quietly. Ovden had eagerly followed them, and was now scouting the immediate vicinity, his occasional loud snort at a new discovery the only thing breaking the illusion of privacy.

"So, _cielo mio,_" Zevran drawled, stretching his arms over his head before dropping into a comfortable slouch, "what is on your mind?" The intent look in his amber eyes belied his relaxed pose; Alessar imagined that the assassin had some idea of what he wanted to discuss.

"I... was wondering about some of the things Ignacio said," the Warden began cautiously. Zevran was usually happy to relate tales of his past, but it was almost always on his own terms. This particular topic had apparently struck a nerve with him earlier, however, and Alessar was afraid that he wouldn't want to talk about it at all.

"Ah." Zevran looked down for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, or his nerve. When he glanced back up, he was wearing a resigned smile. "About the Crows in the main, or...?"

The Warden nodded to the question Zevran had left hanging. "He mentioned Taliesen specifically... what... could that mean?"

"Nothing good," the assassin said quietly. "Ignacio has been out of Antiva since before I was sent here; for him to know of my contract, and to mention Taliesen by name, makes me think that he's had news directly from someone in my old cell." The Antivan elf's normally mobile face had become expressionless as he spoke, and Alessar knew that he was holding something back.

"'Someone'...?" he prompted. Ignacio had referred to Zevran as _Taliesen's responsibility_, which carried a certain implication in Alessar's mind.

Zevran sighed and looked at the Warden with a faint, unhappy smile. "Yes... From what little was said, it sounds as if Taliesen has been put on my contract, as would happen if a Crow died in an attempt."

Alessar nodded slowly; that had been the impression he'd gotten, as well. "So... now it will be his job to come after us," he murmured.

"So it would seem, _cielo_."

The Warden could only wonder at what was going through Zevran's mind, and some of it, he was sure, the assassin wouldn't want to share. Was he wondering what would be said, in such a confrontation? Did he think the other Crow had a chance of succeeding? The only thing Alessar could be certain of was that Zevran was unhappy, and for the Antivan to _show_ as much was a little worrying.

"I'm sorry," the dark-haired elf murmured, meaning it.

"Sorry for what, my dear Warden? Of all involved, you are perhaps the least to blame." Zevran smiled faintly. "I... suppose I am not terribly surprised by this turn of events. As you have heard, the Crows do not abandon their contracts, and once word reached the Crows that I had failed... Taliesen would have been the most logical choice to complete the job."

"Because... you were friends?" Alessar asked tentatively, unsure if Zevran wanted to talk about the matter in detail.

"Because we had similar martial training... Because we often worked together, and perhaps he would be able to either find the flaws in my initial attack —" the assassin snorted wryly, since that attack had not been meant to succeed — "or build off of something I'd set up before. We've done such things in the past, you see, with one of us going in days or weeks earlier to set something up before the other came to trigger the trap, so to speak. But..." He sighed softly. "Yes, also because we were 'friends'."

The Warden caught the somewhat acerbic emphasis on the word. He tilted his head questioningly. "Were you not...?"

Zevran looked at him searchingly for a moment, as if trying to divine the reason behind his asking. "We... did not have friends among the Crows," he said carefully. "Not in the same sense of the word that I would use to describe, for instance, you and Alistair." He tugged at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Perhaps you'll recall what I've said before, about every Crow being out for himself? That is not an environment that fosters much friendship."

Alessar nodded in understanding, but his thoughts were whirling rapidly. The assassin's fidgeting, seldom displayed in front of anyone besides the elven Warden, hinted that he wasn't telling everything, but Alessar wasn't sure how far he wanted to press. The last thing he wanted to do was make Zevran angry with inane questions, but while the Antivan had told plenty of stories of his job-related escapades, he'd really said very little about his life beyond that, save for explaining about Rinna. It wasn't that Alessar felt he had a _right_ to know; he simply couldn't help being curious about the other elf's past, the experiences that had made him into who he was now.

Besides, if Zevran hadn't considered Taliesen something like a friend, in the more typical sense, why would he be so clearly affected by Ignacio's comments?

"Then... he was just another Crow you worked with, nothing more than that?" the Warden asked hesitantly.

Zevran's immediate reaction — a quiet, but noticeable, intake of breath — wasn't what he'd expected. Why had that struck a nerve?

"He was a good friend to me, as good as one could hope for in such a life as the one we led," the assassin said quietly, looking away from Alessar and towards the distant campfire. After a long moment, he turned back to face the elven Warden, his expression solemn. "We were... very close." He met Alessar's gaze until he was certain the other elf understood what he meant.

Alessar nodded mutely in acknowledgment, his mind feeling frozen and numb for a moment. He tried to reconcile this new knowledge with things the assassin had said before. Zevran disavowed all understanding of love; was that a new attitude, since what had happened with Rinna? Or, just as he discounted friendship among the Crows, was there no such thing as love there, at least in his eyes? Perhaps his relationship with Taliesen was mostly physical? Now the Warden was coming up with a myriad of questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.

Some of his anxiety must have shown on his face, and Zevran was adept at reading him anyway; the Antivan elf leaned forward and touched the back of Alessar's hand lightly. "_Cielo,_ I tell you this so that you won't be... _surprised_ if certain things come up in the future." His amber eyes were intent on the Warden, perhaps trying to determine just how badly he'd shaken the other man. "It is all in the past, now."

From someone else, that might have been comforting. Or if Zevran had ever truly declared his feelings for Alessar, it might have been comforting. But without that sort of tangible anchor, the Warden could only wonder what made his relationship with Zevran any different than Taliesen's. Maybe it wasn't.

But the other Crow hadn't been able to keep Zevran in Antiva, apparently... hadn't been enough to avert the elf's death wish. In contrast, the assassin had told Alessar that he was glad to be here, in Ferelden. Maybe that was only because the Warden had given him a chance at a new life, but that was worth something... wasn't it?

The dark-haired elf tried to smile, but again, Zevran saw through the weak attempt. "Ah, this is not what I intended," he said with a quiet sigh. "I have said before that I cannot change my past, yes?"

Alessar realized that the assassin was taking his reaction the wrong way — as a sort of resentment of his relationship with Taliesen. Well... maybe he _did_ feel some irrational envy, but that wasn't exactly the problem. At least, he didn't think it was. But he didn't think there was any way he could explain that to Zevran, at this point in time. _I'm afraid he'll take you back to Antiva. I'm afraid he'll convince you to fight me. I'm afraid I'll have to..._ The Warden shut his eyes tightly against the thought, drawing the other elf's attention with the sudden movement.

"... If this is something that... changes things between us, my dear Warden..." Zevran began.

"No!" Alessar quickly opened his eyes and met the Antivan's amber gaze. "No..." he repeated, fighting to sound calm. "I... You're right, it's in the past." He shook his head. "And I'd never hold that against you. It... doesn't really have anything to do with me, so how could I?" That sounded as awkward as he felt, but how did one discuss something like this, really?

But that drew a little smile from Zevran. "No... it really doesn't have anything to do with you, _cielo_." He gently took the Warden's left hand and turned it palm-up, tracing feather-light circles with his thumb. "That is an old tale, now. Ferelden is a new story, and I, for one, am much more interested in learning how this one goes than in rereading something I already know." Leaving off of the circles, he grasped Alessar's fingers lightly and tugged, an unspoken question that was echoed in his eyes.

Alessar wasn't entirely sure he was in the mood — not after this — and while he was positive Zevran could change his mind quickly, he didn't know if he should give in. Even if the assassin was simply trying to cheer him up, the Warden wasn't sure he should let the other elf get the impression that a simple distraction would keep his mind off of this conversation — because it wouldn't, Alessar knew. Now that they knew the Crows' contract was still active, it was going to be difficult to avoid thinking about it.

_But... if the worst comes to pass,_ a quiet voice said in his head, _shouldn't you enjoy the time that you have now?_

Not a new thought, and something that was true on any given night, these days. When were they _not_ headed into some sort of hideous peril? Tonight he'd learned of a new danger, but that didn't change the fact that tomorrow _something_ would probably try to kill them...

Not a tough decision, in that light. He squeezed Zevran's hand in response, and felt his pulse quicken a little at the heated look the assassin gave him then. _How does he_ do _that...?_

Zevran rose to his feet then, pulling Alessar up with him. "Ahh, but waiting until the others turn in for the night is going to be absolutely excruciating," the Antivan elf said with a wicked little grin. "Perhaps, in the meantime, I should look for some rope? To test our earlier... hypothesis?"

The assassin's strike was on target this time, and the Warden cursed inwardly as he felt his ears growing hot. Unlike earlier, he wasn't entirely sure whether or not the other elf was joking; he also wasn't sure which of those two possibilities he was hoping for.


End file.
